Kelsey POV
I have seen the pictures of Avara during her overseas outreach programs. Digital photographs of her sunken in cheeks from not eating enough, arm-in-arm with other volunteers. Some even with the foreigners they were helping, along with their children. Despite the arid or wind-beaten conditions that would wear down most. Avara's smile alone would illuminate the picture, brightening the dull frame of the captured moment.
And now, there she stands, wrapped in artistry, her custom-designed florid dress. Her hair, polished to a hyper-gloss perfection, is swept into a pristine chignon, each strand seemingly placed with purpose. Her features, delicately enhanced by masterful strokes of makeup that radiate sophistication. Yet, beneath the surface, her glow is muted, her inner light dimmed to a faint flicker, struggling against the opulence encasing her. Her smile, though perfectly poised, carries a quiet hollowness, a silent plea cloaked in grandeur.
